


Forget Me Not

by Miscellaneousmando



Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Love Letters, War, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miscellaneousmando/pseuds/Miscellaneousmando
Summary: A story told through love letters and the uncertain daily lives of a couple separated by a war
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018)/You
Kudos: 1





	Forget Me Not

_‘To my Sunflower; who ardently awaits for my return,_

_It has been mere weeks without your embrace, and I long to hear how you are faring sans my presence. The soft cloth of your nightgown only does so much to remind me of your comfort and the warmth of our home. I keep it in my hands through the night, nuzzling and loving it until I can fall asleep among the sounds of war and despair. How your scent lives on in that small piece of fabric, tucked away in my bedroll so I would never lose it. I would find myself on my hands and knees for you if I so much as got a speck of grime on the precious baby blue of it, such a lovely thing deserving of uttermost devotion. You would laugh as you always do, to my joy—oh to hear your laughter once more. Enough of my rambling on about your nightwear; I miss you, my love. My heart aches for your tender words, and my body weeps for your touch. My muscles are worn from our training, the need for your hands to massage me through the pain is overbearing. Oh, how you would sweetly kiss me as I lament of my untimely demise, caress my cheek and pull me close while telling me is it all a farce. That I am to live to old and ripe age with you, our souls forever intertwined. I miss those wonderful conversations: my head resting upon your belly or breast, your hands gently running through my hair––more unruly than the short length to which I have been reduced. And I find that your hands possess only the softest of emotion.  
My hands bleed and blister seldom compared to the younger boys in my squadron; their tender hands are those as soft as babies’, much like yours, having never wielded a weapon for so long. They are, in themselves, just young lambs being sent to slaughter by their shepherds who acted as though they cared for the defenseless creatures. How, my love, would you or I stand to send off our future children to war? The draft is not my friend in these trying times, and I make little fuss over it, but I would burn down the very Block itself if they dared hurt our brood. Of course, that is, if you would fully intend to create a family with me, for I would not wish to force anything upon you. I will love you no matter what your answer is, but that is for another time. I am being called away by my captain, a rough and treacherous man who I deem incapable of any human emotion except for rage. You would give him a tongue lashing if your innocent ears had to hear what nonsense he spewed––So excuse me, my love, and forget me not, for I am to return to you in a matter of months. And then, we will be safe once more._

_Yours forever,  
Ezra’_

The warm cast of an early morning sun’s light flickered between tree branches and onto your lonesome dinner table. It was warm; so warm compared to the way your veins felt as they swelled with both love and fear. Your hand trembled, lips moving with the same ferocious despair as you brought the handwritten note to your lips––eyes closed as you inhaled the lingering scent of Ezra’s cologne and gunpowder. In the time that you’ve read the note hundreds of times, your once steaming coffee had gone cold with neglect, occasionally splashed by a salty tear.  
You forced yourself to give the letter only one more skim, folding it back up to match its wrinkled creases, and placing it into its envelope. It would now find a home in the box that Ezra had constructed on some sleepless nights after the announcement of his drafting, crafted for these letters specifically. He had a matching one. The chest was small, painted a distressed olive and gray, speckled with hearts and words of love painted carefully by a thin brush Ezra’s skilled hands became one with. The letter was not alone to start, no, Ezra had written you several letters before and decided to place them in the box, “Ezra’s Box” as he had dubbed it, as it’s first residents. They were from a few digs that took him away for more than a few weeks, words dripped in honey, and a lust that penetrated your heart in the worst of ways. He instructed you to keep the letters in the most specific date order, face down, new letter on top of one another so that you may take the whole of them and turn them upside down, back to the beginning.  
The box now closed, you rose to your feet slowly––slipping on a light cardigan as you cleaned your face up a bit, heading off to finish some work. Outside of your home, the morning breeze laved across your skin, picking up loose strands of your hair and letting them blow in the wind. You made your way to the small greenhouse that connected your farmland to your house. In the glass walls of your tiny sanctuary, you grew and bred flowers to sell, usually when Ezra was out of work for some time. Yet, you grew a singular bunch of Muunea flowers for Ezra; white, rose-like flowers that bloomed beneath the full moon, holding in them what is to be a ‘key’ to true love, a forbidden fruit per se. You always would laugh at Ezra for believing such tall tales, and he would pout, making it his mission to figure out when the said fruit would grow.  
Taking a seat at your worktable, you swept off a thin layer of dirt and dust that seemed to never dissipate. Carefully, you trimmed the stems of a few select flowers, varying shades of light pinks and purples only, and set them to the side. You reached for the plastic wrap and fitted it around the stems before selecting a complimenting pale blue piece of tissue paper from your drawer. Your fingers reached up to skip over the brittle plastic cartridges that held silk ribbons on them, closing in on a lilac piece.  
Snip  
The scissors in your hand sheared the ribbon, the delicate strand falling and curling against the table. Picking it up and shaking it a bit to make sure it had no dust on it, you then wrapped it around the middle of the bouquet, making a small bow. Picking the scissors up once more, you help the ribbon firmly against its blade, pulling and pulling until it curled to utter perfection.  
It was numbing, though. Boring. Ezra usually sat with you, talked to you, as you worked on different commissions. The first week without him proved how spoiled you had grown in the short time of your marriage, how his habits and schedule bled into yours easily. He would often come up behind you after you snapped at him for being distracting, kissing up and down your neck in ‘apology’. His hand would caress and squeeze your hips through the cottony fabric of your nightgown; never staying there for long.  
Standing from your table abruptly, you took the finished product in your arms, cradling it gently as one would a swaddled child. It was a delicate gift, as were all the others, and you carried it out of the greenhouse as such. By now, the sun had risen even further into the sky while you had been tucked away, warming your shoulders and back with every step. From the side of the house, you could see a woman approaching your lawn, pausing when her eyes laid on you.  
“Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Nedl, your most loyal customer, called from the road where she stood beside your mailbox. She was a frail, old, woman, whose hair had gone white, and stature curved to only increase the illusion of her loss of height. “How is your husband doing? I heard the troops had begun to advance towards the opposition in the news yesterday.”  
“He…he’s getting along just fine. Ezra says he misses me a lot, and I just––I wish things could be different,” you sighed as you approached her, handing her the bouquet carefully. You had read the same news, knowing that the letter was at least a week old by the time it reached you, regardless of the date. “I just feel so unsafe without him home with all this turmoil. Though, I figure that we’re relatively safe out here––far from the cities. The Guard is on the outskirts, they will protect us, I hope.”  
Mrs. Nedl nodded in agreement at your words, having spent her fair share of years stuck in warring times. “Trust me on Ezra, dear, it gets easier. After my Silas passed away, I couldn’t sleep for weeks on end. But, I knew he was protecting me, Kevva be blessed, he is in my bed every night, holding me close.”  
She chuckled in bittersweet memory, freckled and wrinkled hand coming to rest on your shoulder in reassurance. You shrugged in half acknowledgment, fingers toying with a pulled thread on your skirt, becoming longer and longer the more you pulled on it. Mr. Nedl was one of the loveliest people you had ever met, and you surely doubted he could even hurt a fly, but when in love, you become possessed with unmatched courage.  
“I don’t know how long I can go without hearing his voice; I honestly miss all of his nonsensical ramblings…it’s how we first got together in the first place.”  
Smiling softly, you closed your eyes as you remembered the sweet memories. You were younger then, still living with your parents when a young prospector stumbled up to your doorstep. He was covered in dirt, dust, and goo, pitifully explaining how he had gotten lost after a scuffle with a colleague and needed directions. Your father was kind enough to let him in, Ezra rambling to you as you patched up a deep cut in his cheek. It still is there to this day, scarring over to resemble a pearly white hook, one you so lovingly kissed every morning and night.  
“I ought to go and write back to him while the words are fresh in my mind––enjoy your flowers, Mrs. Nedl. It was lovely to see you,” you pulled her in for a chaste hug, soaking in the warm for a moment.  
“Good luck to you, my dear, and never forget that he protects you always. Kevva waits, and he will be home soon,” the elderly woman waved you off, turning down the driveway until her feet shuffled on down the road.

* * *

You found yourself sitting at the lonesome worktable once more, pen in your hand as you carefully etched away at the paper before you. To the side of your hand, a green strip of ribbon laid heavy, doused in your favorite perfume. It was a gift you knew Ezra would surely be able to keep fresh for a few months…and in a few months, he would come home to bury his nose against your neck and inhale it and––  
_Sigh_  
“Kevva protects,” you whispered as you sealed the envelope with shaky fingers. Time was of the essence now, and you knew not to waste a precious second of it any longer.  



End file.
